Words make me feel fulfilled occasionally.
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A glowing ball of putty pulp Squelching around deep in your abdomen It flinches at the splash of alcohol Cased in skin, cloaked in black and blue
By Violet P. Davies7 years ago in Poets
Hold me, hold me, hold me up I want to let it all out Eat my words, eat my story I don’t have to keep it swallowed if you’ll swallow it for me
Something something something something something something old soul Something something something something something old soul
It’s in my ears And then it’s in the room Like headphones slipping out of the jack That shot of fear In the second and a half or so
Rain, rain, go away I’m here but for a short while To bask in the sun Sugar works, sweet drinks I work more or less in the
I took a quick step over the delta To take a closer look at the rocks The waves barely brushed them And my feet were dry
As my personal witching hour approaches My early 4:48 psychosis My breath comes thick Not with memory exactly But more a reflexive dread
Trickle down, sweet January dew Into the cracks that the window hides Unlocking her unique tapestries At once ancient blueprints and brand new
Stay Smile back at me again When the corner of your mouth turns up It's something quite different than before And I want to know more
Looks like it's time for me to roast you Sorry bro, you know I'm supposed to And there's nothing to it You do it to yourself
I don't have a penny Because they're out of circulation And if I threw a nickel It would hurt But I still really wonder
I should I should be I should be listening This is important This is something I—like This is something I—want This is good
